


Coming Home

by andchaos



Series: Destiel Oneshots (for a series of tumblr prompts) [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, Genderbending, Genderswap, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-05 00:09:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchaos/pseuds/andchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas just wants to come home. Deanna wants to accept, but doesn't know how to say it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr prompt:  
> "Fem!Destiel? Can you do one where they're bitching at each other? Like in the Impala, but something sparks up tension in the vehicle, causing them to be on edge? "

 

“I want…I think I want to come home,” said Cas, and Deanna tightened her grip on the steering wheel, her eyes locked on the road in front of the Impala. Her eyes were having trouble focusing, and she was glad they were parked in front of the store. 

 

“I just—” continued Cas hesitantly, sweeping her hair over her shoulder—a nervous gesture she must have picked up somewhere, maybe from Nora, “I think I’ve relearned many of the basics of hunting from our occasional jaunts together. I don’t think I would be quite as useless as I was that first time, and I swear, Deanna, anything I can do to lessen...to not be a burden…I will do.”

 

Though she tried to keep her focus locked on the red minivan currently blocking her exit, her eyes betrayed her; they flicked just once to Cas, then away again, but it was enough. Cas was wide-eyed and somehow _innocent_ , despite the things she had done, the millennia in Heaven spent smiting anything that came in her path. From soldier to general to God and back, Cas was human, and hiding her dangerous side as surely as ever. She looked…well, like a fucking lost puppy, in Deanna’s opinion. 

 

Deanna closed her eyes. “You don’t really think that, do you?” she asked, pinching the bridge of her nose, her free hand hitting her lap with a loud clap. She could practically feel the answering head tilt.

 

“Think what?”

 

“That you’re a burden,” she snapped, whipping around to glare at her fallen friend, hands curling into fists against her thighs. “Are you that fucking stupid? What could possibly posses you—Have you even _considered_ —When have I ever, _ever_ in my entire too-long life made you think—How the fuck do you get that you’re a _burden_?”

 

Cas squinted back at her, allowing her tirade to sizzle into nothingness. She just stared, silent and watchful, almost reproachful, and—god—sizing up Deanna like _she_ was the dense one in this suddenly-too-small car. Deanna swore and looked away, but there was nowhere to avert her gaze; hissing profanities, she snapped her hair-tie against her wrist multiple times, then twisted her hair into a bun, took it down, tied it into a ponytail, took that down too, then began lacing the messy strands into a haphazard braid, her fingers frantic and imprecise, but still masterful.

 

“Why are you fidgeting?”

 

“I’m not fidgeting. Shut up.”

 

Cas sighed, turning to stare blankly out the window, scrunching her nose up as she considered the earlier question. She began slowly, nails digging into her knees beneath the fabric of her cargo pants.

 

“I suppose I got the idea from…well, from you,” she whispered, eyes flicking once to the driver’s seat, then back to the front. Her wrinkled forehead absolutely reeked of apology, especially in the face of Deanna’s wounded, shocked expression. “I remember, a very long time ago…one or two resurrections and a marriage ago, actually, you told me that I was just a baby in a trench coat.”

 

“Yeah, but Cas…I didn’t mean—”

 

“No, but you were right. I’ve thought through this many times in my new life. I’ve tried so hard to be of value. I don’t have the skills that you possess, and without my powers…without my grace…I am effectively all but useless. I stubbed my toe last week—Do you realize how much that hurts? I was surprised to say the least, and after that…I was laid up all night. I couldn’t even use the bathroom because it hurt to walk.”

 

In most other situations, Deanna probably would have laughed at Cas’s frustration at stubbed toes and urinating, but not today. Today she furrowed her brow and swept her finished braid over her shoulder, fixing Cas with a pained but serious stare. She inhaled deeply.

 

“Cas, you’re not—God! You’re not useless! You can wield a blade better than anyone I’ve ever met and you know all sorts of stupid, useless facts that have gotten us out of more jams than I’d care to admit and you let me play my fucking classic rock in the car and you’ve saved my ass more times than I can count and I don’t know how many other ways I can say it but _Jesus fucking Christ_ Cas I fucking _need_ you and you’re _not_ useless, you are one of the most important people-being-things that I can ever met and _what the unholy fuck_ —”

 

Deanna wasn’t very good at feelings, that was true. So she summed it up the only way she knew how: By lunging across the front seat, pushing Cas back against the window, and crashing their mouths together in a plea to just fucking _understand_.

 

Cas did. She moaned against what had turned into a wild tangle of tongues and lips and whatever magic Deanna was pulling with her hands underneath Cas’s shirt and blazer, and maybe Deanna had never done _this_ with a girl but she had hooked up with a frankly absurd amount of men and the principle was the same: Find out what made your partner moan, and work from there. Luckily for everyone involved, Cas was extremely vocal.

 

Deanna had wrestled Cas out of her jacket and shirt in no time, throwing them unceremoniously onto the floor of the passenger side, where they were quickly joined by a red flannel, a pair of cargo pants, and skinny jeans. Cas hummed in weird aroused appreciation as Deanna kissed at her neck, pinning her wrists against the window over her head. Cas writhed shamelessly, her head thrown back to give Deanna more canvas for her lips and teeth and tongue, and of which she was taking full advantage. Deanna’s free hand roamed down, over her breasts and soft curves, just memorizing and appreciating, unhurried and worshipful.

 

They had touched innumerous times: arm wrenches, healing fingers, furious punches, reassuring palms—all down to that very first time, the angry red burn stitched into the very fabric of their being, manifested in a handprint on Deanna’s skin and a chunk cut sharply out of Cas’s grace. Through everything, they had never touched like this: careful but trembling, passionate but slow, aching for deliberate reverence if only they weren’t a little distracted.

 

Deanna’s mouth strayed down and her hands fell even lower; she busied herself with making a pattern of hickeys across Cas’s chest as her index finger looped through the lace on her thong, and with a practiced ease she had slipped the thin fabric over Cas’s hips and off completely; it joined the other clothes on the floor, already forgotten.

 

Deanna pulled away, admiring her artwork for a few seconds before dragging her eyes up to meet Cas’s curious stare. “You’ve…gotten off before, right?”

 

“I was married once,” Cas deadpanned, and Deanna grinned. Good. Skip the verbal instructions, then. She never thought she’d see the day where she’d be thanking that random hiker who had picked up Cas after she’d walked out of the lake, but whatever, weirder things had happened. This, for instance. This was new.

 

They met in a kiss again, and Deanna spent a solid five minutes distracting Cas solely with her tongue before allowing her fingers to descend the remaining few inches and then, oh _god_ , and then Cas was all around her. She didn’t know the exact ways and means of doing this for someone else, but they were probably similar to doing it for herself, and she had plenty of experience in _that_.

 

A few seconds later, it became apparent that she was not the only one enjoying herself. Somehow Cas had managed to get even _louder_ , not that Deanna was complaining. _She_ had pulled these breathy, wild sounds of the notoriously stoic ex-angel with the biggest stick in the garrison up her ass, and yeah, her possessive side was kicking in a bit. She bit down on Cas’s lower lip, hard enough to bruise, and refused to soothe it until Cas had properly answered her roughly grunted, _“You ever let anyone else touch you like this?”_ with a satisfactory, _“Only you, I’m all yours, Deanna.”_

Cas whined plaintively, arching against her fingers. “Deanna,” she groaned, her head slamming painfully back against the door, “I want to touch you.”

 

So she finally released her wrists, and then Cas’s hands were vying for attention with the kind of noises that should have been made illegal in every fucking state. Deanna was seriously starting to wonder whether Cas had, in fact, been married to a man, because no way she had learned these types of touches by having them done to herself—but then one of Cas’s hands had found Deanna’s braid, and tugged, tugged _hard_ , and her train of thought cut off as her head fell back and she moaned embarrassingly loudly.

 

Maybe it was that noise that did it, that fucking perfect release of every last inhibition that Deanna usually kept locked up behind three layers and a bottle of Jack, but then Cas was arching up and fucking _screaming_ , and yeah, Deanna could get off to that, because suddenly she was crying out too and she hadn’t even touched herself.

 

Deanna collapsed onto Cas, but neither bothered to shift away. In fact, Cas wrapped her arms tightly around Deanna’s naked back, settling into the seat like she was ready to go to sleep. Actually, Deanna was up for a nap. She kind of wanted to do that again, or possibly several hundred more times, but for now it was enough to settle in with the scent of Cas’s weird soap (which she was getting free in the local gym showers) oppressive in her nose and Cas’s free-flowing, slightly sweaty hair sticking uncomfortably to her face. After all, they only had the one day—better make the most of it.


End file.
